Without a Past Read Online Free

twins are getting big,” Ida said, apropos of nothing.
    She opened her canvas bag and poked around a minute. “I have the article. About the birth. Quite the event, you know.” She pulled a crinkled clipping from the bag. “See here? ‘Jenny Sullivan O’Neal won’t be returning to town anytime soon. Caring for twin babies and an aging aunt—’” Ida Jane snorted indignantly. “Big Mouth Gloria Hughes. Who’s she calling aged? She’s no spring chicken herself.”
    Harley bit down on a smile.
    She cleared her throat and started reading again. “‘…aging aunt must be a handful. But Glory’s pleased to see a smile on sweet Jenny’s face the past couple of months, and we hope she’s found a bit of happiness after her grievous loss. We know she misses Josh—just like the rest of us, but life does march on.’”
    â€œGrievous,” Ida muttered. “Pretentious old biddy.”
    Harley swallowed his chuckle. “Jenny and Sam do seem to get along well,” he said sincerely. “What does Andi think about the wedding?”
    Harley didn’t doubt for a minute that the real reason he’d volunteered to give Ida Jane a ride home was the likelihoodof seeing feisty Andi Sullivan. Which was both a good thing and bad.
    Good because a little verbal sparring stimulated his mind; bad because stimulation of any kind kept him awake at night with a sickening headache caused by dreams he couldn’t remember in the morning.
    He’d bumped into Andi the night before last when he’d joined two of the younger ranch hands in town for a beer. Andi had been at the Slowpoke Saloon with a group of friends when Harley arrived. To his surprise, she’d asked him to dance when the jukebox played a mellow tune. He’d enjoyed every moment of holding her in his arms, but later—alone in his bunk—he’d had to claw his way past blistering pain. He’d awoken in a pool of sweat and had barely made it to the bathroom before losing the contents of his stomach.
    Do all amnesiacs have bad dreams? Or just me? Maybe my past is so bad that I’m afraid to remember it. Unconsciously, Harley reached up to run his fingers over the irregular scar at his temple.
    â€œThat still bothering you?” Ida Jane asked.
    He glanced sideways. Ida Jane appeared the quintessential grandmother—silver hair cut short and functional, her glossy skin marred with irregular brown age spots. Harley wondered, not for the first time, whether or not he might have a grandmother somewhere in the world. He hoped not. He didn’t want to think he might be worrying an old lady by having dropped out of her life so suddenly.
    â€œNo, ma’am. Itched like heck for a while. Now I rub it out of habit.”
    â€œI’ve always felt a scar lends a person character. It seems to say you weren’t afraid to take risks.” He could feel her staring at his profile. “You have a nice, handsome face, but that scar will keep it from being too…perfect.”
    Harley had spent a good deal of time the past three months staring at his face in the mirror trying to find some clue to who he was, and although he was satisfied that his looks weren’t going to frighten young children, he wouldn’t classify himself as handsome. His nose was…pugnacious, and the line of his jaw was too short. His eyes were blue, and his hair—probably his best feature—was thick and wavy. A medium brown now laced with gold—thanks to his recent stint at mending fences in the California sunshine.
    â€œNo worry there, Miss Ida. I’m a long way from perfect. Especially when it comes to fixing fences. Look at these cuts.” He held up his right hand to prove it. Three bandage strips adorned his thumb and index finger; two more were on the heel of his hand.
    â€œCould be you’re in the wrong trade. You have a fine way with words.